I had to fire my primary care doctor. She wouldn’t prescribe the anti-depressant that I’ve been taking. I’d been seeing a prescribing psychiatrist, but his office moved 25 miles away from where I live, so I’ve been looking for a new one (a Herculean chore if ever there was one) . In the meantime, I ran out of medication. Actually, I was getting low on medication and then Boo decided to throw the bottle, containing my last 4 or 5 pills, into the toilet and that was that. Out of meds.
So I called my primary care doctor, assuming that she’d write the prescription. I explained the situation to her nurse and she said she’d get back to me. Well, she didn’t. So I called again. I was told, again, that she’d have to talk to the doctor and call me back.
Three days of this shit and by the end of the third day, I was ready to kill someone. By this time, the pills were gone and I was starting to feel lousy. I’d been kind of weening myself, since I had a suspicion this might be an issue with this doctor, but still. I’d counted on another week of pills and now they were, literally, flushed down the toilet.
The doctor refused to fill the prescription. Even thought I gave her the name and number of the psychiatrist who’d originally filled it, even though I told the nurse I’d had no side effects, even though I said I was having trouble because of the withdrawal side effects, she didn’t care. When I said that I was having trouble getting a prescribing psychiatrist, she didn’t care.
So I fired her.
And now I’m not on any anti-depressants and oh my holy hell, is it kicking my ass. I spend most of every day trying not to cry and have been having some really dark thoughts. I keep thinking about how I’m fucking up my kids and fucking up my marriage and how the last thing I want to do is pass on this crazy to my children. I worry so much that they’ll be like me when they grow up and I so don’t want that for them.
Because this sucks. This black hole is miserable. I want out. And I can’t get a fucking psychiatrist to call me back and help me. This is one of the things about depression – you need help so badly, but the system makes it so difficult. And it’s so easy to give up. And that’s what I want to do. Just give up. Completely. Crawl into a hole, find a cave, hell, even hide under the blankets for a few days. I just want to stop feeling like this. I fucking hate it.
I hate that I can’t see the fun any more, that I don’t feel the happy. All I feel is bleak and dark and sad. I don’t want to go anywhere, I don’t want to do anything, I don’t want to talk to anyone and I just want that all to go away. I feel paranoid – that people are talking about me, that people are laughing at me behind my back, that I’m a useless lump, a forgettable bit of flotsam, no one worth bothering about, no one worth befriending. And I know this is the depression talking, but the voice is very loud in my head and very hard to ignore.
I want my life back. It might not be much of a life, it might not be what I wanted it to be, but it was my life.